


Monterrey

by countermeasures



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, I'm still baffled how this happened, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countermeasures/pseuds/countermeasures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Skyfall.</p>
<p>Bond was mad at himself for taking the job. He should have taken more time to recover from the last one. He didn't bounce back as easily as he used to; he never would admit this to anybody, but he had to face the facts. He wasn't getting any younger, and sitting on the back of a donkey passing the Chihuahuan Desert on his way to Monterrey, Mexico wasn't helping his rehabilitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monterrey

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thanks Aye! I owe you a cookie!

_We are not now that strength which in old days  
_ _Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are_

Bond was mad at himself for taking the job. He should have taken more time to recover from the last one. He didn't bounce back as easily as he used to; he never would admit this to anybody, but he had to face the facts. He wasn't getting any younger, and sitting on the back of a donkey passing the Chihuahuan Desert on his way to Monterrey, Mexico wasn't helping his rehabilitation.

He never should have said he was ready. He did this every time, and he knew that he did it to punish himself. He never took the time to fully process what had happened on a mission -- he knew it would come back to haunt him, but he didn't know any other way to survive.

He realized he’d drifted off into his own mind when, suddenly, he heard a familiar voice somewhere far away.

"...think that will do the trick, an easy in and out and you're done." Bond heard a sigh in his ear, and he knew he’d just missed the complete explanation by Q. "Are we clear, 007?"

"I'm sorry Q, bad reception here in hell. I think I missed something. Why couldn't we have gone over the plan at HQ?"

Q could see on his fancy screens that Bond was lying through his teeth, but he let it slide. They had the same discussion over and over again, how he wasn't ready yet, how he had to deal with what had happened, how the mission came to early. "Don't worry, just do as I say and you'll be home next week."

Bond's soldier training kicked in, "just tell me again who the target is and I'll be fine."

Q explained once more about the drug kingpin in the city, the trafficking, and how to get to him. Elimination would be the only right outcome, but not before Bond had figured out how the drugs got out of Mexico and into Europe.

"Roger that. One last thing, why am I traveling on an ass?"

"They didn't have any camels on such short notice. I'm still vexed by your decision to fly to Arizona and not directly to Monterrey. This was the best we could do. You try getting a camel at 3am!"

Bond didn't respond. He knew everybody was listening in and he didn't want any more rumors about how he and Q sounded like an old, married, bickering couple. He liked to keep some affairs private.

_Little remains: but every hour is saved  
From that eternal silence_

They didn't hear anything for three days. Complete radio silence. Q was slowly breaking down, staring at his screen if Bond’s GPS would reappear in Monterrey. He blamed himself, he shouldn't have let James go back out there, it had been too soon. This is what he should have expected. He kept staring at his watch, willing it to slow down, to give Bond a chance to make it out of there. He needed just one mission to go smoothly, without any emotional aftermath.

After Skyfall, Q had been the happiest man on earth when he’d found James on his doorstep, but he was always left with anxiety, with questions about the other man's sanity. It was uncanny how little everything seemed to affect Bond. It was unhealthy, but Q didn't want to pry. He had started to learn to read the signs, to find the ways to let James open up, to let him look into his heart. He didn't want to risk a complete shutdown, but it was eating him up inside.

"Go home Q, I will call you when he comes back online." Q spun around and found Tanner there.

"I...," he started to protest, but he felt exhausted and knew he needed sleep. He was running on caffeine for 35 hours, he wasn't thinking straight anymore. "Thanks, Bill. I think I'll get some rest in the sleep lab instead. Wake me when you hear as much as a sigh from that speaker. I want to be the first to yell at him."

"I will. Don't even think about turning on the feed in the lab though. You look like you've been run over by a stampede of elephants."

Q was suddenly too tired to comment on that, so he just got up and walked away, to the first available spot he could lie down. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

_To follow knowledge like a sinking star,  
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. _

Bond never thought he would see a city again. He’d known he would have to cross a big desert, but he always seemed to forget the mindset he reached after a day surrounded by sand. This time, it had been even worse than the other times. Before Skyfall, the thought of a great novel and a great martini on the side of a pool with the occasional swim got him through travels like this; after Skyfall, all he wanted was to be back in London and have Q. He finally had something, someone, to go home to and it scared him, but it exhilarated him at the same time. It kept him going.

This was punishment. For every death he was responsible for, he punished himself. At first he didn't even realize it, but by now he knew what he was doing. There was no reason not to fly straight to Monterrey, but he needed the desert trip. He needed to suffer. It was insane and he knew it was, but it was his way of coming to terms with everything. He felt the outcome of Skyfall was his fault, he’d come up with the plan. Three days on his own, alone with his thoughts, was the worst thing he could think off. By the time he rode into Monterrey, he had accepted what had happened and was ready to continue.

He checked into the hotel and knew this would alert MI6 in London. He knew how they would respond if he contacted HQ after nothing for three days, so he decided against it. He had had enough time to work out a plan, he would notify them when it was time. First, he needed a cold shower and a hot meal.

He walked into his hotel room to find his suits and shirts neatly hanging in the wardrobe as he’d expected. An agent had gone through the room to take the usual precautions, and he had sent his luggage with the prep-team. Still, he hadn’t been as happy to see fresh clothes as he was now in a long time. He only did a quick check for bugs, placing his usual markings, and shed his clothes while he was going through the room, on his way to the shower.

The cold water had revived him enough to start the task at hand: he needed to gather intel on this kingpin ruling the streets of the city. His plan was pretty straight-forward, but he had learned over time to always have a contingency plan. No villain was the same, and he had to learn all there was to handle the job as efficiently as possible. First up was the file he’d found with his socks. He smiled -- Q had known he hadn’t heard anything during the brief and had made sure he would have access to all necessary information before he’d do anything stupid like go after a drug lord without the details.

He was startled by a knock on the door, and only realized halfway to the door that he hadn’t grabbed a towel after his shower and hadn’t dressed yet. He quickly grabbed a bathrobe and opened the door to find room service with his dinner. He got dressed quickly while the food was being served and worked on the details of his plan while he was eating.

_Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere  
Of common duties, decent not to fail _

Tanner had had Bond’s GPS signal up on the computer, checking it periodically to see if the agent was back on the radar, and finally he got the alert that he had checked into the Monterrey hotel. He let out a sigh, and told M that the mission had made a step forward.

“He is in his room, but hasn’t checked in with us.”

“Get Q and be prepared.” It was all Tanner got as a response before M had left for a meeting. He went to the lab and found Q behind his computer.

“I told you to get some sleep, what are you doing?” He looked disapprovingly at the younger man.

“Tanner! I...” Q started to come up with an excuse, but gave up quickly. There was no need for anything but the truth. “I got the GPS alert on my phone, and I figured I’d be needed here.” He was already busy typing away on his notebook, getting satellite and CCTV up on the big screens.

“There,” he pointed at the big screen, “that is the hotel. Bond is on the top floor, the kingpin’s lair is two blocks from the hotel.”

“The kingpin’s lair? What is this, Wayne Manor? Q, our big bad doesn’t have a lair.”

“Fine, his office then. You take all the fun out of the job this way, Tanner.”

“You can have all the fun in the world, but a guy named Steve Millard doesn’t have a lair. He has Captain America cards, is surrounded by kittens and puppies, and took a wrong turn a long time ago to end up as a drug baron.” Tanner had always been particular about vocabulary, he’d seen the mix-ups happen because of wrong word choices, and he was determined to make this an easy mission.

Suddenly they heard a crackle on the speakers. “Q?”

Tanner stepped in front of Q and answered. “007. How nice of you to check in.”

“Tanner. There was nothing to report on, so I didn’t bother with it. What did you want, an hourly check up of my surroundings? Sand, sand, bloody sand everywhere you looked. Is Q there?”

“I’m here.” Q looked apologetically to Tanner, even though he couldn’t help Bond’s response. “Why on earth did you turn off your GPS, 007? Not checking in is one thing, but disabling your tracker is a whole other issue.”

“I figured you’d have put another one in my watch, so I didn’t bother trying to fix it when the donkey stepped on the battery.”

Q could hear the mockery in Bond’s voice, so he dropped it. “Let’s just get to work, it’s time for Mr. Millard to face the music.” He saw Tanner roll his eyes, but ignored him and listened to Bond’s plan.

_One equal temper of heroic hearts,_   
_Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will_   
_To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield._

“So, can you get me into the building?” Bond had no reason to question Q’s ability to do so, but the key to a successful mission was to ask every question, even the ones you’d already know the answer to.

“If you keep us in the loop of your whereabouts, I can. I even got you a Harley, so I won’t hear you complain about the transport anymore.” Q even shook his head while saying it, he shouldn’t have given in by arranging it, with Bond being only two blocks from Millard.

“A bike? You couldn’t have gotten me a car? Just anything with four wheels?”

“For God sake, 007, get a grip,” Bond heard M come on the line; “it’s ridiculous you even get a motorcycle.”

“I’d look like a fool walking in this town, nobody walks.”

He quickly went through the last loose ends, they tested the equipment, and he left the hotel room before Q could tell him to bring the equipment back in one piece. He still wanted to check out the place before it was time to get in and get Millard. He got downstairs and immediately spotted the bike. He felt his heartbeat pick up: when Q delivered, he did extremely well, especially since he’d never been on a bike in his life. Bond got the keys at the hotel reception and took her out for a spin before going to Millard’s office.

He noticed immediately that the door was made from reinforced steel, and that the windows all had bars in front of them. Not as easily in and out as Q had said. There was a lot of activity around the building, something was going to happen soon. Bond snuck a peek in one of the crates on the pavement and found it was stuffed with pencils. Another one was filled with fountain pens. He got one of each out of the cases, and got back to the hotel to report.

“Remember how you said this would be an easy one, Q?” Bond didn’t bother with hello. “Reinforced steel door, barred windows, and it’s busier than King’s Cross during rush hour. Something is happening, and it’s happening soon. I have to do something fast or they will be gone to god knows where.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Bond. We’ve been monitoring the neighborhood these last days and back up is close by. This is what happens when you drop off the face of the earth, you miss things.”

“Are you still on that? I told you, the ass stepped on the tracker. You can’t blame me for that.” Bond had started playing with the pencil while he was talking. “Besides, I didn’t expect somebody named Steve Millard to be an actual big time drug lord. I figured he was a local.”

“Why would they want to involve the British Secret Service if it was just a local?” Q sounded surprised at Bond’s reaction. “Names can be deceiving, 007. Not everybody goes by numbers and letters to keep the structure clear.”

“So, why haven’t you mentioned this earlier? We were discussing a plan, after all.” He had started tapping the pencil on the table.

“The first step was to gather intel, you just completed that task. Now we continue, and we’ll figure out a plan to get Millard and find the drugs. It has to be-” Q stopped mid-sentence when he heard a loud crack over the intercom. “What the hell was that?”

“I found the drugs.”

Q stayed silent for a moment, but there was no explanation. “Care to elaborate on that, agent?”

“It’s in the pencils.”

“I really need more than four-word sentences for it to make any sense. What pencils? What are you on about?” Q started to sound impatient. “What was that crack? What did you break?”

“Q, this isn’t the time for 20 questions. Give me a moment.” Bond turned his attention to the pencil that now lay in several pieces on the table, in the middle of white powder. Cocaine. He grabbed the fountain pen from his pocket, smashed it, and found it filled with heroin. He quickly explained the crates with the writing utensilsat the warehouse, and how it was the way the drugs got smuggled out of the country and into Great Britain.

For a while he heard nothing but Q’s fingers on the keyboard, who was probably trying to get a satellite to see where those crates were going. “Q? I’m going back there, I have to find out if Steve is in the building.”

“Put in your earpiece.”

_Death closes all: but something ere the end,  
Some work of noble note, may yet be done_

"Q?"

"Yes?"

"The crates are gone."

"I know."

"Well? Did you see where they were taken? Are they inside? Are they in transit? Work your Big Brother magic, and make it make sense!" Bond got angry at himself, he should've stayed, he should've thought this through, his contingency plan was rubbish.

"I don't know how they did it, the one moment I see them in front of the building, and the next everything is gone. Is there a way to open the floor there?"

"Not that I can see. There is no way they could've brought everything inside this quick." He was about to investigate the concrete better when the door opened and Millard got out.

"Now is my chance, I have to let them capture me."

"James, no!" It had slipped out before Q realized. He glanced around, it seemed like only Tanner noticed. "That is plan Z, this isn't protocol."

"There is no time to go through all the other plans, they are leaving now. This is the only shot I have."

"Can't you just follow them? You _have_ been trained for that, you know."

“Don’t worry, Q, I’ve got it under control.” James hoped that saying it would make it be true. “It’s going to be okay.”

He stepped towards the guards, still deciding how to go about being captured, when one of Millard’s men spotted him. “Boss! We’ve got an intruder, armed. What do you want us to do with him?”

“Bring him to me, let’s find out what he’s doing here.”

Three of the goons ran to Bond and cornered him. Since he couldn’t let them take him quietly, Bond started a tussle and knocked two of them out before he let the last one overpower him. He kept struggling for a bit until he had his arms tied tightly behind his back and was pushed into the car where Millard was waiting.

\--

“They’ve got him.” Q said. “He’s in their car, and his signal is moving towards the docks. No footage yet on how the crates got moved, but I’m getting close. They can’t have vanished into thin air!” He looked around and realized nobody was paying attention to him, they were all busy with other missions. Q had almost forgotten that Monterrey wasn’t the only project that was going on.

The audio feed from Bond suddenly gave such a loud static sound that Tanner came running from his office. "What did he blow up?"

"I think they just busted his earpiece, nothing serious." Q wasn't surprised, he had always felt they had to design smaller wireless ones because these were too noticeable.

"So we are going on GPS alone now?" Tanner looked worried. "We can't tell when we need to send in the team!"

Q ignored the question and focused on the screen, adjusting feeds and commands.

"I asked something, Q."

"Tanner, Bond has so many bugs and mics on him that he doesn't even know which button is just a button." He glanced at Tanner and switched the speaker to another frequency. "As long as he keeps a piece of clothing on, we can listen in."

"You mean..."

"Basically every button on his outfit is a mic with a tracking signal."

"Is he aware of this? Seems like you're putting a lot of faith in a man who forgets to get dressed on a regular basis." Tanner had a feeling this wasn't thought through.

"Standard Q-branch issue, he must realize we won't send him anywhere without extra ears."

\--

Bond opened his eyes and noticed they had reached water. Somehow he had lost a chunk of time, and his pounding head explained why. He had been knocked out after getting into the car. He tried to loosens his arms, but the knots were too well done. He had definitely underestimated this gang, and now here he was, all on his own, with only his charm to talk his way out of these restraints.  

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," he started. "I'm Bond, J-"

"I do not care about pesky little flies swirling around me, certainly not enough to learn their full names, Mister Bond." Millard interrupted. "Why were you running around on my private property?"

The car had stopped at a docking slip while Millard was talking, and Bond got dragged out by the men waiting. He started to think this was a bad idea. He should have listened to Q and just followed them, snuck on the boat and eavesdrop to find out the plan, or plant a bug. It was too late for that, and he noticed that Millard was staring at him.

"I am waiting for an answer. You are starting to waste my time and I am a very impatient man." Millard walked to a big tanker while he was talking, and motioned one of the men to take Bond on board as well.

He was brought below deck and was being cuffed to a chair, which was tied to a radiator. "Bit excessive, don't you think?" He got hit in the jaw in reply and let out a grunt.

Suddenly the guard saw a flash of his Walther. "He has a gun!"

"You didn't check him before you threw him in?" Millard shot the man who’d announced Bond was armed before he could explain. "I told you, I am an impatient man."

Bond tried to keep his poker face, but he knew he’d be in trouble if he didn't think of something fast. "So, big time drug lord," he started, ignoring the voice in his head that was warning him that _that_ was the quickest way to die, "hiding everything in pens and pencils. Clever."

"What can I say, nobody suspects a man named Steve to smuggle drugs. My parents gave me the perfect alibi." He fired a bullet ten centimeters from Bond's right ear. "Now, enough chit-chat, what do you want."

"Isn't it obvious?" Bond was taunting him, "I'm here to figure out where the drugs come from, and when I find out, I’ll kill you."

While he was talking, he managed to untie the wires that kept the chair to the radiator, and now he was working on the cuffs with that same wire.

Another shot, this time close to his left shoulder. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he thought he’d seen intrigue on Millard's face. The man then started to laugh so hard that he had to sit down, which was the moment Bond had been waiting for.

He jumped up from his chair and had the wire around Millard’s throat before Millard realized what had happened. The only thing that was stopping Bond from making the kill was that he still didn’t know anything about the whole operation. “How do you get the drugs? How do you smuggle them into England?”  

He pulled the wire a little bit tighter, but made sure Millard was still able to breathe. “You know your game has come to an end, Mr. Millard. Just give it up.”

Millard huffed in disdain, “You are all alone, Mister Bond, and I have a ship full of men. What makes you think this is the end?”

Right on cue, as if it was all part of the plan, Bond heard the choppers, and let out a small sigh. He had no idea how, but Q had worked his magic once again. “Who says I’m alone?”

Millard finally realized his predicament, but he still kept his mouth shut. No matter what Bond did, the man wasn’t giving up his secrets. He had started to try to relieve the tension of the wire on his throat and somehow Bond let go of the reigns for a second. This was enough for Millard to turn around and start a fight.

At first they were both getting punches in, struggling to overpower the other man, until somebody shouted from upstairs. “He did it like The Italian Job, 007!” Even though Bond wasn’t quite sure how that was supposed to have worked, he took it as a sign he didn’t have to hold back anymore. Within minutes he held Millard in a death grip, pushing the air from his lungs, until he had stopped struggling and went limp in his arms. Moments later the room was flooded by other agents, who took the body from him; and Bond went to the upper deck to see what had happened.

\--

Bond stared out of M’s office window, and after accepting a glass of scotch asked what he’d been wondering since he heard it. “What did the agent mean when he said ‘he did it like The Italian Job’? They loaded the stuff in Minis and drove off with it all? What about the boat?”

“You’ve got to ask Q for the details, but they had hatches in the bottom plates of the cars, so they drove over the crates, lifted them into the cars that way, and drove the cars onto the boat, which set sail to England.”  M explained. “We captured the men that remained at the warehouse, and we had a hard time to make them stop talking.”

“At least he chose a good movie to copycat. When you can’t be original, cheat with something good.”

“007?” M waited until he had turned to face him, “Get some rest. Debrief tomorrow 9am.”

“With pleasure, M.”

Bond had lingered in the office, talking to Eve, until his phone buzzed. He excused himself and walked away, and he had a hard time keeping his face in check when he read the text.

_Pizza or Chinese? Q. PS. change your shirt, you’re wired._

 


End file.
